


Searching For A Trail To Follow Again

by epicfrenchfry, Megalomaniacal



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Battle of Winterfell, Season/Series 08 Spoilers, Theon survives, post 8x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicfrenchfry/pseuds/epicfrenchfry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalomaniacal/pseuds/Megalomaniacal
Summary: “I’ve seen him fight to live before, I can only hope he will do so now.”





	Searching For A Trail To Follow Again

He was limp, bloody, but he couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't.

"Theon!" Jon fell to his side, reaching out to grasp his shoulder and turn him onto his back. What... What should he do? He couldn't take the spear from his belly, lest Theon bleed out from the wound, but he feared moving him and jostling the weapon, and causing further damage. His hands slid down the chest of his armor, over the torn kraken sigil. Slick blood coated the surface of it.

"Jon," Bran said, voice slow and solemn. "He fought well."

Who cared if he fought well? He couldn't be... Couldn't be dead. Jon fumbled for Theon's wrist, ignoring how lifeless it felt in his hands, feeling for any sign of life.

"Ary—" He twisted and looked back at her, still standing beside Bran, staring at the ice around her as though she couldn't comprehend what she had done. There was a wild, gleeful light in her eyes and a savage smirk on her lips. "Arya. Please, help me move him. He's not gone, he can't be, we just need to get him inside."

Theon’s eyes were open, and he was seeing, but barely. He felt so dizzy, everything fuzzy, he could taste blood. So much blood... he didn’t even feel pain where the spear was in him, not anymore. He felt almost numb. Tingly.

Was this what dying was like?

He could see someone, blurry, could hear voices, but they sounded millions of miles away. Robb? Was it Robb’s voice, calling to him? Robb come to reunite with him in the afterlife? He heard his name spoke. He tried to make out the face of the person standing over him. Dark hair. Not Robb, but then... Ramsay? He groaned softly, pained. Not Ramsay. Please not Ramsay. But there were no blue eyes, no ugly chunks of ice, the eyes were brown- dark brown.

No... he was dying, dead, but Jon hadn’t... he hoped Jon hadn’t. But it was Jon above him, Jon’s dark hair and dark eyes. He tried to look at him, to focus on him, but his eyes refused to focus. Jon. It was Jon. He wanted to reach for him, but he was so weak... so weak, even in death. Was he dead? Surely he couldn’t survive this. He’d been through so much... but this...

He took in a deep, wheezing breath, and then everything went pitch black.

Arya turned to Jon, taking slow steps, shards of ice crunching beneath her feet. Her smirk slowly faded as she reached him, reached Theon. “Jon. Don’t be a fool.”

"He's not dead," Jon said, turning back to him. "We just have to get him inside. Of all the people Jon had passed, the people he had seen die and the people he had lost, Theon couldn't be among them. He had already lost Ghost, and Edd, and maybe Sam. He couldn't lose Theon. "Please."

Arya knelt down, holding two fingers to his neck. Her eyes widened slightly when she felt a pulse- weak, but it was there. She nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll get him inside. But do we have a maester?”

His first thought was Sam, but then... Jon choked back an onset of tears. He could cry later, but not now. Theon needed him now. He had to be brave, now.

"Maester Wolkan," Jon said. "If he's alive. He'd be in the crypts."

“Pick him up,” Arya ordered. “Don’t take the spear out. Make sure he doesn’t his his head on anything.”

"Bran," Jon began, looking back.

Bran gazed back at him. "Go."

Jon nodded brusquely, and picked Theon up as carefully as he could. He was limp, yes, but not lifeless. Not yet.

The trekked through the halls and courtyard of Winterfell. The castle was half-destroyed, and corpses still littered the ground, but people were beginning to pick themselves up, searching through the dead for their loved ones.

Arya followed after Jon, carefully avoiding stepping on the corpses, or on the injured. They reached the crypts soon enough, and it was an ugly sight. Broken caskets, bodies everywhere... innocent people cowering in a dark corner.

“Maester?” Arya called. “Is there a maester?”

Maester Wolkan rose, trembling, but calmed when he saw who was summoning him. His gaze fell upon Theon in Jon's arms and his mouth opened, but before he could say anything, Sansa had appeared.

"Theon?" she gasped, eyes round. "Is he dead?"

"No," Jon denied. He held Theon a little closer. "Maester Wolkan, please," he took a step forward, "he needs help."

The maester looked at his limp body, nodding slowly. “I will- I will need to go to my room, with my supplies... to treat him. Is everything safe outside?”

"Aye. Arya killed the Night King. The wights are dead."

The others all stared at Arya, a little incredulous, but Sansa swelled with pride. Her baby sister! She wanted to reach out to her, but refrained. Arya seemed focused on Theon, and Sansa dropped her gaze to him. Brave Theon... She prayed that he wouldn't die. She still had things to tell him.

“We should hurry.” Maester Wolkan interrupted the moment of silent awe. “He may not survive much longer if we don’t treat it quickly.”

They took Theon through the halls to the maester's room, and laid Theon on the table. Jon didn't watch as Maester Wolkan got to work. He sat heavily in a chair and stared at the floor, watching the spear drop and listening to him work. Arya sat beside him, and he could feel her gazing at him but he didn't look up at her either.

"I should have been there."

“You were fighting elsewhere,” Arya replied. “It wasn’t like you could have had the whole army defending Bran.”

Maester Wolkan kept working, brows furrowed, checking Theon’s pulse every so often. It was bloody work, and he had to cut off his armor- it was a good thing it was leather, otherwise it may have caused many problems to remove. He grimaced at the sight of his torso, all the wounds he’d once had to tend to because it Ramsay Bolton. Rags and bandages were piling on the floor beside the table, soaked through with blood. Theon was pale, so horribly pale, but soon Maester Wolkan was stepping away from the table, away from the body with the bandaged torso.

“He’s alive, for now.”

_For now._

_For now._

_For now._

The words repeated themselves in Jon's head. "How can we keep him alive?" he demanded. "What can I do?"

“There’s nothing we can do.” The maester replied sadly. “I’ll just watch the wound and change the dressings. It’s up to him now. I’ve seen him fight to live before, I can only hope he will do so now.”

"Aye. We can only hope." And wait. Jon resigned himself to wait, because if Theon died, he wasn't going to die alone.

* * *

Theon groaned. His whole body felt stiff and in pain. He was so sore everywhere, and there was an insistent throbbing in his lower abdomen, and...

Oh. He was alive.

He was in a bed in the Maester’s chambers. He could see the table, covered in all sorts of medicines and bandages. He could see Jon sitting in a chair to the side of the room. His vision was blurry, and he felt terribly weak, but he spoke. “J-Jon?”

"Theon?" Jon rose immediately, and crossed the room to Theon's bedside. "Theon, you're awake." He let out a small sigh of relief and knelt beside him, Theon's hand in his. "How do you feel?"

“Dead,” Theon answered honestly, his hand limp, weak, and cold in Jon’s. How had he lived? The Night King’s spear, all the blood...

"Not dead. You're alive." With his other hand, Jon brushed Theon's hair back from his face and felt his forehead. Hot, but that was much better than cold. "We need the maester," he said, but he didn't want to leave Theon's side just yet. Not after he had just woken up.

“How? He stabbed me, he- it went through me, there was so much blood.” Theon stared at him, eyes unfocused. He considered momentarily that this was nowhere near the worst pain he’d ever felt. It was nothing compared to when he’d gotten an infection and caught a fever after Ramsay castrated him.

“I don’t- Bran. Where’s Bran?” He hadn’t been able to kill the Night King, to stop him, and no one else was left to protect him...

"Safe. He's safe. Arya killed him, the Night King. The wights are all gone now." Jon squeezed his hand, looking into his face.

“Sansa?” he questioned, voice so weak it was nearly a whisper.

"She's okay too. She's been here, but she's been helping rebuild. A... A lot of good people died." Jon stroked his thumb over Theon's hand, and his gaze fell to Theon's stomach, where under the furs was that heavily bandaged wound. "But not you."

“But not me,” Theon repeated, looking down at his stomach, at the furs covering it. “Robb- that’s- this is how they killed Robb. Stabbed him in the stomach.”

Jon drew a wavering breath and nodded. "Aye. And he didn't deserve what happened to him, no more than you did."

“I thought I was going to see him again.” His voice shook. I thought- when you said my name in the Godswood...” he trailed off.

"You thought I was him?" Jon wanted to hug Theon, but he couldn't risk jostling him. "You'll see him again. We all will. But not today. Not for a while."

Theon looked up at Jon, eyes wet. “You saved me. You- you brought me to the maester, didn’t you? Why?”

"You're family. I couldn't let you die like that. I didn't want you to die." Jon paused for a moment. "Why do you do this?"

“W-what?” Theon stammered, eyes wide. “Do what?”

"Try to redeem yourself. We've all forgiven you, Theon. You don't need to keep trying."

“I- I need to be useful. I had to try. The Night King, he was right there, I had to try... and what Bran said to me... he knew I’d die. But- but I didn’t. I didn’t die.”

"You didn't die. And you don't. Not now." Jon placed Theon's hand back on the bed, soft in the furs. "Promise me you'll be careful. I don't want to lose you, too."

“I cannot promise you anything, Jon. I- I can’t be weak.” He looked down at the hand Jon had been holding, at the missing stump of his pinkie.

"You're not weak. Please, Theon. The Night King is gone now, I'm just asking you to stay here when we ride south. Stay here, and stay safe," Jon pleaded.

“My uncle, my sister... I have to go south too, I can’t- I can’t hide away here. I can’t be a coward.”

"We sent a raven to your sister. She's gathering an army to fight Euron. She'll be fighting with us, Theon. Stay here. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, remember? Keep the castle safe, and we'll take care of Euron."

“I’m no Stark,” Theon replied, voice soft. “I cannot protect this castle.”

"You can. I trust you, Theon." He felt Theon's forehead again. Still too hot. He really needed the maester. "I'm going to fetch the maester. Sit tight, don't move, okay?"

“I-“ He didn’t want to be alone. He could feel his skin heating more and more, but his bones felt cold within his body and beneath the furs. “Okay.”

"I'll be back soon," Jon promised, and he gathered his cloak off the foot of the bed and swept from the room.

Theon stared after him, but he was soon out of sight. His vision seemed to be getting more blurry, his head spinning. His eyes rolled back and he groaned, pained, fumbling to pull the furs tighter around himself. He wanted to curl in on himself to keep warm. Chills were running through his body and he could do nothing about it. He was just so hot and cold at the same time, sweat beading on his skin. He hadn’t been sick like this in so long... not since Ramsay... and after the first time, Ramsay took care to make sure Theon would not get so sick again, because he hated to care for him through it.

When he got fevers as a child, his mother would wrap him in warm blankets and put a cool, damp rag on his forehead, she would sing to him and stroke his hair until he finally fell asleep. There was no one to do that now, though. He groaned again, uncomfortable and achy, squirming under his furs.

Barely five minutes passed before Jon was returning with Maester Wolkan. "Theon?" Jon called, falling beside his bedside again. Theon was pale and shaky, face shining with a sheen of sweat. "Theon, are you...? Maester Wolkan, he wasn't like this when I left," he said, looking up at the old maester.

“Jon...” Theon groaned, letting his head fall limply to the side to look at Jon. His mouth was open, lips chapped, breathing heavily.

Maester Wolkan hurried to get things out of his cabinets, and Theon moaned low and fearful as the old man approached him. No. Master had hurt him again, hurt him so badly that he had to come to the maester. Master would be mad at him for being weak. What had he done wrong? What had he been punished for? He rarely ever got to see the maester, and as Wolkan approached him with a few things in hand, Theon made a noise of protest.

“N-no- I can- I don’t need- master will be angry...”

"Master?" Jon echoed. Wolkan and he exchanged looks, and Jon understood. "Ramsay is dead, Theon. Ramsay isn't here anymore. Maester Wolkan is here for you, to help you."

“Ramsay...” Theon repeated, the only work Jon spoke that processed in his brain. “Master... m’lord, I- I’m sorry... I’m sorry I’m sick. I-I can’t help it, I’m- I’m weak, I’m sorry...” He stammered, words slurring together.

"No, Thee—" The nickname slipped out, an old one that Robb had always used for him but Jon had never dared utter. "You're safe."

“Robb?” Theon’s eyes fell shut, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. “You-you came... end it, please... make it stop...” He’d dreamed for so long of Robb coming to execute him, to take him out of his misery, to take him away from Ramsay. He’d thought Ramsay was gone, but... here he was, dirty and in pain, staring up at Maester Wolkan.

"No, it's Jon," he said softly, heart throbbing in his chest. Oh, Theon... "We'll make it stop hurting. You need to let Maester Wolkan help you."

“Jon? The- the master doesn’t like you... you can’t- you can’t be here. He’ll kill you. He’ll hurt you. I-I shouldn’t be talking to you.” Theon opened his eyes to look at Jon for a moment before closing them. They felt so dry.

Jon placed his hand on Theon's forehead again. He kept his touch light and gentle. "You're burning up, Theon. Ramsay is dead. Maester Wolkan is going to look at you, now," he said patiently.

“I feel so cold," Theon whimpered. “N-not burning.”

"That's the fever," Wolkan said, moving in. He pulled the furs back from Theon's body, exposing his naked torso and the dressings on the wound. "These must be changed. Does it hurt, Theon?"

“I-I don’t know.” Everything had always hurt for as long as he could remember now. He was always sore and aching, and the cold made his joints feel even worse. Did it hurt? He was so focused on the dizziness swimming in his head. “I don’t think so.”

Maester Wolkan pulled the dressings back and checked the wound. Three days, and the wound was healing about as well as could be expected. It was concerning if Theon couldn't feel any pain, though. There should at least be an ache, or a sharp twinge. Wolkan touched the tender area around it, gently, while Jon watched closely.

"Now?"

Theon winced, whimpering quietly. “Th-that hurts, yeah, please don’t do that...”

Jon took Theon's hand again, squeezing it to draw his attention and distract him from what Wolkan was doing. "You're going to get better," he promised. "You're strong, Theon."

Theon squeezed Jon’s hand back, as best he could. “I-I want my mother.. I want Robb.” He murmured.

"I know. I'm sorry." They were gone, both gone, and Jon didn't want Theon to go where they had gone. "You'll have to wait a while before seeing them."

“I’m so cold," he moaned pathetically. “Jon, I’m so cold...”

Jon felt his forehead again. "Theon, you're hot. We'll cover you up again as soon as he's done, okay? He's just cleaning your wound. We'll see if you can't sweat this out."

“B-but what if it’s a fever I can’t sweat out?” Theon reluctantly opened his eyes, bloodshot, and looked at Jon. His breathing was labored. He tugged at Jon’s hand, voice cracking when he spoke. “P-please, Jon, I’m so cold.”

"We'll think of something," Jon said. He cast a glance down at what Wolkan was doing. How much longer? But the maester was changing the dressings now, finishing up the job, and Jon gave Theon a reassuring smile. "Almost done."

“Not- not just the furs, please. I’m so cold. So cold, I- I don’t wanna be cold anymore.” Theon looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Jon didn't know what to do. It was winter, and would be for a while now. "We can get you more furs," he said, brows knitting together in worry, "if you're cold even with them."

“No,” He moaned, but dropped his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes. “I- Maester- is he done?”

Jon checked. Maester Wolkan nodded at him, showing Jon the clean new dressings. He offered a quiet thank you, and the maester let them be. He pulled the furs up over Theon's body, tucking them around him, and after a moment's thought he threw his own cloak with the pelt on top.

“Not your cloak. You.” Theon pleaded, squinting up at him.

"Me?" Jon studied the space of bed next to Theon. "Alright." Without hesitation, he pulled off his boots and tugged his hair free of its tie, so the curls fell free around his face. He climbed into bed beside Theon, wrapping an arm around him. "Better?"

“Mm...” Theon turned his head, nuzzling it in against his neck. He was like a little heater next to Jon. Even though Theon felt cold, he felt a little warmer now that Jon’s arm was around him. He made a soft, pleased sound. Jon smelled nice, like pine and musk.

"Try to sleep," Jon murmured, tugging the furs further up over Theon's shoulders so he was completely. "Okay, Theon?"

“Sleep. Okay.” Theon agreed, and after a few fitful moments, he drifted off with his head resting on Jon.

Jon released a breath he didn't know he was holding. He shifted the way he lay, getting another arm around Theon, and adjusted them just enough that Theon was relaxed against his chest. He hoped Theon would heal fast; Daenerys was already speaking of marching to King's Landing, and Jon didn't want to leave Theon behind like this. He couldn't leave him like this.

"It'll be okay, Theon," he breathed. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't promise. He could only keep him safe now, while he healed, and hoped that Theon had had enough with the need for redemption. If not, it was going to end up killing him.

* * *

Theon had woken yesterday, but by the time she was told, it was late and she was too busy with the rebuilding efforts to see him. Now, though, she had time. Sansa hurried along down the halls to the maester's rooms, clutching her cloak around her shoulders. The knife Arya had given her was hilted at her waist, where it had been ever since the battle. She wished she had been courageous enough to fight, but... That was in the past. There was nothing she could do for it now.

She pushed the door open and snuck inside. The room was dark, and she could see Theon laid on a bed. They were alone.

"Theon?" she called, voice soft. "Oh!" She hurried to his bedside. "Thank the gods." Sansa sat on the bed beside him, legs curled tight beneath her, and she took his hand and held it in her lap. "How are you feeling?"

Her hand was so small and soft and delicate in his own, and he offered her a small smile. “I’m okay. Better. How are you?”

"Working hard. Being the Lady of Winterfell is difficult, when Winterfell is in pieces. But we're rebuilding. We burned our dead first thing, and we've been cleaning. But mostly I've been worried about you," she said, squeezing his hand.

His small smile grew bigger. “I’m okay, Lady Sansa. You needn’t worry for me.”

"But I am worried for you," she said. Her cheeks were pink, and she glanced away for him. "Of course I am."

“I lived, Sansa. You lived. It’s okay.” He gave her hand a small squeeze.

"And so did you." She smiled down at him. "I'm glad you didn't die. I'm glad we're both still alive."

“Me too. You- Sansa, you deserve so much better than life has given you.” He looked at her, a bittersweet smile on his face.

"We both do," she said, and her gaze flicked shyly downwards. It was the only warning Theon had before Sansa steeled herself, dipped down, and kissed him.

Theon froze, eyes open wide. No... he didn’t like Sansa like that, hadn’t liked any woman like that, hadn’t so much as looked at any woman like that since the Dreadfort. Since Myranda and Violet. He didn’t want it, didn’t want them... Ramsay’s voice echoed in his head. Will you feel an itch? He did, but not in his groin- it was an itching in his chest, in his lungs, like something was panicked and trying to crawl out, and the second Sansa pulled away from the kiss he let out a soft, dry sob.

"Theon?" Sansa asked, horrified. "You're— I'm sorry! I thought— I didn't mean..." She scooted back away from him, burning with shame, but didn't let go of his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't think..."

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He whimpered, closing his eyes. “I- I can’t. I don’t feel that way for you. I- I can’t, Sansa. Maybe- maybe years a-and years ago, but... I had to watch what he did to you, and- and you know what he did to me. I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He felt horribly guilty, and the tickling clawing pains in his chest had moved to his gut.

Sansa was quiet. She did know, and she knew personally what it was like to be brutalized in such a way. They had never said it, but she knew it had been done to Theon too. What was she thinking? Forcing herself... Damn her own feelings.

"We were going to be wed, once," she said softly. "Before they decided on Joffrey. I... Now, I think I'm..." She shook her head. "I'm so sorry."

“It’s not your fault, Sansa, you- you couldn’t have known. I just... I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If- If it all never happened- it Ramsay hadn’t... then maybe. But not- not anymore.” He squeezed her hand gently, gazing at her with soft eyes. “I’m not upset with you.”

"You should be," she said, now refusing to look him in these eyes. Her cheeks were burning, burning, but not from shyness but shame in herself. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

“Stay with me. For now. And- and stop blaming yourself. You didn’t hurt me, Sansa. You- you surprised me, is all. I’m okay.”

"Okay," she conceded. She didn't leave, much as she felt she should, and even slipped another pillow beneath him so he could sit up a bit. "Are you bored in here? You'll be healed and strong again soon."

“Bored?” He smiled at her, a sad smile. “Sansa... I’ve spent days on end alone, in the dark. It takes a lot to bore me now. I... I’ve learned to be patient. You did too. Locked away in that tower... I- I should’ve saved you sooner.”

"But you did. And you saved Bran. You saved all of us," she said. "Arya killed him, but you bought her the time she needed. And he couldn't even kill you. Strong Theon."

“I thought I was dying. I thought- I thought I’d be with Robb again.” Theon’s voice shook, and so did his hands. The excitement from seeing Sansa and the shock from the kiss were wearing off, and he was slowly remembering how much his body ached, how horrible his skin felt, how cold his bones... and Jon wasn’t there when he woke...

“Sansa, I- I think I need the maester.”

"I'll go fetch him for you," she said, and hopped off the bed. She left just a bit too quickly, evidently still ashamed over what she had done, and Theon was alone again.

Where was Jon? He was gone, his cloak was gone... without Sansa in the room, Theon scanned his gaze over every inch of it, and found no trace that Jon was ever there.

Jon wouldn't return then, though. Theon remained alone until Sansa returned with the maester, and afterwards when the maester left, Sansa stayed for hours. When she left, he was alone until morning.

* * *

Jon did come in the morning, and he did not come alone. A white wolf limped at his side, thick cloth wrapped around wounds on his leg and side.

"We found him!" Jon announced, hand on Ghost's head. "Hurt, but he's alright. He'll be alright."

Theon’s eyes lit up a bit at the sight of the wolf, and he smiled a little. “Good. I’m glad he’s okay. Ghost, c’mere. C’mere Ghostie. That’s a good boy.” His time in the kennels with Ramsay’s girls had warmed him up significantly to dogs, and he relaxed at the feeling of Ghost’s soft fur under his hand as he stroked his head.

"How are you feeling today?" Jon asked, brows knit with worry. "I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday... We were out scouting and looking for him."

“Is that why you left?” Theon asked, grunting when Ghost leapt up on the bed, laying down on top of his legs. “You’re getting chunky, Ghost. Drowned God, he’s heavy.”

"Don't be rude to him," Jon chided. He sat beside Theon, stroking his wolf's head. "You didn't tell me how you're feeling. Have they been feeding you enough?"

“I-“ Theon paused. Had he eaten? He’d gotten so used to not eating with Ramsay, that it was always hard to remember when his last meal was. “I think so. I’m doing better.”

Jon wanted to see if Theon could walk yet, but to his knowledge the maester had not yet cleared him. Still, he must be going mad, confined to this bed. Jon pulled from his cloak a book.

"Here," he said, "I found this in the libraries. Old Nan used to read to us from this, remember?"

“Ah yes. Back when I had all my body parts and skin.” Theon joked, but his little smile quickly vanished when he saw Jon was not at all amused.

Jon looked away, seemingly fascinated in the tattered old pages. He ran a thumb down the spine of the book. "It was simpler then," he said. Then he sighed, and set the book on Theon's lap. "It's something to do, anyhow. I can bring you more, if you would like."

“I don’t need books. Just you. Stay?” His gaze lingered on Jon’s lips, plump and pouty, and he has the sudden thought that he wouldn’t mind if it were Jon kissing him.

"Of course I'll stay." Without the need for prompting this time, Jon lay beside Theon and took him in his arms. Ghost made a soft sound of protest as he was dislodged, but resettled quickly on Theon's other side, his red eyes alert and fixed on Jon.

Theon sighed happily, relishing in the feeling of Jon’s arms around him once again. “You know... when we were kids... I’m sorry. For how I treated you.” When everything was simple, before the war, when he stole glances at Jon when he wasn’t looking, did the same to Robb- but it was so much easier with Robb. To pretend he only liked him as a friend.

"That was so long ago," Jon dismissed. "I'm not concerned with that now, Theon. Still... Thank you. I admit I wasn't fond of you, either."

Theon winced a little. “I- I didn’t dislike you.”

Confused, Jon looked down at him. "What?" He certainly acted convincingly, if it was an act.

“I didn’t dislike you,” he repeated. “I’ve never disliked you, Jon, I just- I didn’t know how- I didn’t... it was hard.”

"Didn't know how... What?" Jon echoed. "What was hard, Theon?" He felt maddeningly like he was missing some small piece of a great puzzle, and Theon didn't look too keen on sharing.

“Jon, I can’t- if anyone knew-“ His eyes darted around the room. Ramsay knew. He’d told Ramsay, in a desperate attempt to make him stop hurting him. As if that were the information Ramsay wanted. Before Theon knew it was only for fun.

"Knew what?" Jon pressed. He took Theon's hand, hoping to emanate some level of comfort. "It's just us here. I can keep a secret."

“No, you can’t... I’d be executed, it’s not- it’s not okay, it’s bad, it’s gross...” Theon’s voice trembled as he trailed off.

"Executed?" Jon sat up, and tugged Theon up with him, turning his face to look at him. "Theon, please. Tell me what's wrong."

“It’s not allowed, Jon, I- I can’t.” He was beginning to tremble just as bad as his voice, eyes wide and tears as he looked at him, cheeks flushed dark pink.

"Theon." Jon's voice went soft, pleading. He studied Theon's face with growing worry. "It can't possibly be that bad. And, if it is... I won't tell."

“It’s- I-“ His trembling worsened. “The mast- I- I mean Ramsay- he- when he found out... it’s bad, it’s so bad and gross and bad...”

Jon pulled Theon into a hug, holding him tight. "I'm not Ramsay. I wouldn't hurt you, Theon. Not now. Not for whatever this is." Still, even as he said it, he was sick with worry. What was it?

“It’s not allowed. It’s not, if anyone knew... it’s not. It’s not, don’t you understand?” Theon hid his face against Jon’s chest.

"Theon, please," Jon said. He stroked a hand down his back, mindful of the healing wound, but the coverings were stiff and sturdy. "Nobody else will know. It's just us here. Nobody will hurt you, or punish you."

“I- you and Robb, I never- I never saw you as brothers,” he managed.

Jon still didn't get it. Was he trying to tell him that he had seen them as his captors, like his fa— like Ned had been? "What were we to you?" he asked, mouth dry.

“No, I... it was different. More. Or- I- I don’t know. And both of you, I... it was so much easier with Robb, hiding it, but you- I- Jon, I can’t.” He shook his head, tears beginning to soak into Jon’s shirt.

Jon pulled back, cupping Theon's face and looking him in the eyes. "Please tell me, Thee. It will be okay."

“The- how you- How everyone thought I looked at the girls...” He trailed off, swallowing hard and looking everyone but at Jon.

Finally, it clicked. Oh. Jon could hear Ygritte's voice now, _You know nothing, Jon Snow _.__ Only he wasn't really Snow, was he? And Theon wasn't Ygritte. He was Theon, and Jon understood. His hands on Theon's face grew softer, gentler, and he lowered his head and kissed him.

At first, Theon tensed, but he quickly melted into the kiss, Jon’s lips soft and gentle against his own. His eyes fluttered shut, his heart pounding in his chest.

He pulled back after a long moment, studying his face. "That's what you meant. Isn't it? Theon, I would never..."

“No, it’s- yes- that’s what I meant... with Robb, it was so easy, but you... Jon, I... what about the Dragon Queen?” He looked at him, eyes wet and wide, the look on his face almost innocent.

"She's my aunt," he said with a shake of his head. "Long story." He wiped the tears from his cheeks with a thumb and bent to kiss him again.

Theon kissed back, tear tracks slowly drying on his cheeks. He reached up, softly combing through his hair with his fingers. His curls were so dark, so soft...

Jon let go of Theon, letting sink back against the comfort of his pillows and the featherbed, but didn't pull away from the kiss. He bent with him, one hand still holding his face but the other bracing against the mattress. If Theon had only said...

“I always tried to convince myself that I really did hate you. That one day Robb would confess he-he felt the same way, and I could be with him. Not- not the bastard. I had to hate you. But Robb- he never- not like that. And you, you ended up hating me for real when I just- I just didn’t want you to know.”

"I... I don't hate you. Not anymore. When I did, I didn't know," Jon murmured, nuzzling against Theon's neck. "Now I do. How could I hate you?"

“I’ve always been so terrible... a-and the things he did to- he did to me, when he found out...” Theon shuddered, still playing with Jon’s curls.

"Ramsay?" Jon paused. "Theon, you what happened to him, don't you?"

“He’s gone. Dead. I-I don’t know how, just that he’s gone. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

"Sansa killed him," Jon said, sitting up. Theon stared at him. "Sansa fed him to his own dogs, after we took back Winterfell."

“To- to the dogs?” Theon’s eyes widened. “He must’ve been so angry.”

"He's dead, and we're not. You're not. He doesn't matter anymore," Jon said. "But you do."

“He took so much of me. So much... you don’t even know. I don’t- I don’t think you know. I- it was so bad.”

“‘Everyone knows you loved girls,’ he told me. ‘I bet you always thought they loved you back.’” Theon had to look away from Jon. “I told him, that’s- that’s when I told him I- about you, and Robb- but it didn’t... it didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop him from cut-cutting it off.”

Jon's eyes flicked downwards. He realized. "Theon..." The gods were cruel, especially to Theon. He, of all people...

“That’s not- it’s not all he- Jon, I-“ He couldn’t. He couldn’t say all the other things Ramsay had done to him. He couldn’t. His eyes were welling with tears again at the memory of the pain, the humiliation, the horrible shame and self loathing and guilt. His voice was nearly a whisper. “He- like a woman, he- he made me.”

Ramsay raped him. Gods, Ramsay had raped him. Jon swallowed down his bursting rage and hugged Theon again, because if nothing else he at least deserved the comforting touch.

"He'll never touch you again."

Theon let out a small, tiny sob, burying his face in Jon’s shirt, against his chest. “Never. I know. I know, I just- I’m not who I was, not anymore.”

Jon was at a loss for words. What could he say? 'None of us are the same anymore', 'you'll grow from this', or some other variation of sentimental, generalized filth? There was nothing. He didn't want to lie to him, either.

"Time," he said after a silence. "You just... I can't tell you it will be better. I can't promise that. But we can try."

“Sometimes I forget that I’m Theon.” He admitted quietly. “Sometimes I wake up, a-and I think I’m back in the dungeons, or the kennels before I remember.”

"We just have to keep you grounded," Jon said, despite having absolutely no clue how to do that. "Can't erase those memories, but... Move on from them. Move past them."

Theon smiled at him- it was weak, but it was something, and then he rested his head back against Jon’s chest. They laid there in silence until Theon, who seemed always exhausted nowadays, fell asleep.

* * *

"You're going to walk today." The day before, Theon had stood, and managed to stand for a short while. Today, Theon would walk. Jon was determined for that much, at least, to happen before he left tomorrow for King's Landing. It had scarcely been a fortnight, but with Winterfell still under reconstruction and Theon still under recovery, Jon had been busy. Granted, Theon had slept for three of those days, and they had allotted him perhaps too much bed rest, but... Jon wasn't willing to take chances with him. Not now. Not with everything they now had at stake.

“I want to lay with you. Not walk around.” Theon pouted- but he did feel the best he had in a while. And Jon was leaving soon. They’d spent most of Theon’s conscious time together, cuddled up together in bed and sharing occasional kisses, and he was happier than he’d been in... a very, very long time.

Jon moved backwards across the room, grinning playfully. "You'll have to walk to me, then." He spread his arms out. "I'll give you a special reward, if you do."

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Theon rolled his eyes before carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed, using his hands to help push him up to standing position. He wobbled a bit as he took his first step, feeling a bit like a child again, but he grew more confident with each step, and soon enough he was standing in front of Jon.

Jon swelled with pride. "Look at you." He put his hands on Theon's waist and kissed him. They'd been doing a lot of that, and Jon had discovered a deep love for it. For Theon.

Theon hummed, a happy little sound, and kissed him back, eyes closing during the kiss and opening when they parted for breath. He smiled at him. “What’s my special reward then, hm?”

"Wait here," Jon said, smiling, and he backed out of the room. He was gone for a moment, but returned with a squirming bundle in his arms. "For company," he said, holding the pup out to him.

He took the puppy into his arms, staring down at it, eyes wide with awe. She squirmed and whined and tried to lick his face, but she couldn’t reach. She was a beautiful thing, sleek, soft, dark brindle fur, velvety, floppy ears, blue eyes. His lower lip began to tremble. A Corso... one of the girls’? “She’s- She’s so little. I love her.”

"I've been thinking, lately... You should have gotten a direwolf. You're as much a Stark as the rest of us, and you deserved one. Even if there was only six." Jon gave a soft smile at the sight of Theon cuddling the pup. "She's not a wolf, but, she's as good as one."

“I- she’s just a baby, just a teeny baby.” Theon’s eyes were welling up with tears, cheeks flushed pink, unable to keep the smile off his face. “I- is she one of the girls’ pups? Do you know which girl?”

"Kyra," Jon said, a little uncomfortably. He had been informed of how that particular dog was named, and what had become of her namesake. "Without Ramsay, the dogs have calmed down. They're eating a normal diet now. That one should be fine."

“Kyra.” He repeated softly, not put off by the information. “My favorite. You’ve got a good mama, huh? Aye. I had a good mama too. Her name was Alannys.” The wrinkly little puppy licked him, and he beamed back down at her. “You like that name? Huh? Little Lanny?” Another lick, and now Theon looked up at Jon. “What do you think?”

"That's a good name," Jon agreed. His eyes were round and soft in their gaze. "She'll grow fast, and be good company for you when I'm— when we're all gone."

Theon’s smile faltered for a moment, but came back when the puppy squirmed and tried to climb over his shoulder, licking at his ear. “Hey! Lanny, silly, no ears!”

Theon would have his hands full with this one, Jon thought. He chuckled, and sat down on the bed. Tomorrow, he would leave with the army for King's Landing. The realization crashed down on him; it was so soon, too soon.

"I'm leaving Ghost in Winterfell," Jon said. "There's a good chance I... I don't want him to get hurt. Will you look after him for me?"

Theon stumbled over to sit down beside him. Lanny barked happily, a tiny squeaky sound. “Of course. As long as you promise he won’t eat little Lanny,” he joked, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes now.

"Of course he won't. He's a good boy. He'll help you train her." Lanny hopped to the bed, exploring with her nose in the furs, and Jon seized the opportunity to draw Theon into a hug. "I'll come home," he promised, though the words were dry and bitter.

“You’d better.” Theon hugged back tightly, voice cracking. Lanny looked up from the furs, barking and jumping at them, offended that they hugged without her.

"When I come home, we'll... We'll sort this all out. We'll do something with... Us." Jon paused. "If that's what you would want." That was what he wanted, anyway.

“Come back. Be king again. And- and you can tell anyone who questions you to fuck off. I’m yours, okay?” Theon leaked back a little to let Lanny squirm up between them.

"Aye. And I'm yours." Jon kissed him, and he moved in and they fell back against the featherbed in each other's arms. Lanny squirmed between them, snuffling at the furs, and pressed her nose to Theon's neck.

“You belong here. With me. Please.” He kissed Jon again, then the tip of Lanny’s nose when she shoved it in his face. “Come back soon.”

"As soon as I can," he vowed. He kissed his cheek, the corner of his mouth, then his lips. "I'll miss you."

“And I you,” Theon responded softly, kissing him back.

* * *

Theon didn’t want him to leave. He stood at the gates of Winterfell, gazing sadly at Jon sat atop his horse, feeling as if a fist were tightened around his heart. He stepped closer, and closer, until Jon noticed him.

“Hey. Don’t die, okay?”

"I will do my best," Jon said solemnly. He wanted to kiss him again, but not here.

Daenerys was sidling up alongside him astride a white horse, and she smiled at him. Her gaze dragged over Theon with slight distaste, likely recalling how Theon and Yara had pledged to her first, but Theon fought for Winterfell now. Daenerys moved on ahead, leaving them to it, and Jon stared after her.

"I still need to talk to her," he recalled. "But that can wait, until the fighting is done."

“She doesn’t like me much," Theon noted, glancing over at the queen, before lowering his voice and teasing. “Don’t let her trick you away from me.”

"My aunt," he reminded, but grinned. "If all goes well, I'll be coming home to you and she will stay in King's Landing... So what she thinks, or likes, doesn't matter."

“Be quick,” Theon pleaded, gazing at him affectionately. Someone called for Jon to follow, and his horse seemed to be getting anxious. “I’ll see you soon.”

"I'll send a raven!" he called back, and his horse was galloping away, chasing after Daenerys, leading the armies. Overhead, the two dragons soared high.

* * *

Jon hadn’t lied. Only a few months later, after a heavy snowfall, the maester came to Theon with a raven. Theon was sat back in his bed, Lanny—who had grown considerably, and was by no means a lap dog—on top of him. He smiled and thanked the maester, who then left him alone to unroll and read the letter.

_I’m coming home, Theon. We have won. Daenerys is on the Iron Throne, and Sansa is to be Queen in the North. You will be safe now. We will be safe. I’ve missed you._

_Love, Jon_


End file.
